


don't expect them to thank or forgive you

by sourcheeks



Category: The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton - The Mountain Goats (Song), The Mountain Goats (Band)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcheeks/pseuds/sourcheeks
Summary: The best ever death metal band out of Denton will in time both outpace and outlive you.Hail Satan!
Relationships: Cyrus & Jeff
Kudos: 7





	don't expect them to thank or forgive you

“We should start a band.” 

Cyrus laughed. Jeff didn’t. 

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff sat up. “We’d be good! You’re a really awesome guitarist, I’ve heard you play!”

“Yeah, but-” Cyrus shook his head. “Man. Writing music is different than playing music.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Jeff nudged him. “I know you have all those poems in your diary.”

Cyrus blushed. “That’s  _ private,  _ Jeff, I can’t sing that!”

Jeff squeezed his thigh. “Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

“Most metal bands have bassists,” Cyrus pointed out as he tuned up.

“Stop  _ worrying _ about it, man.” Jeff watched him, twisting idly on his drum throne. “We’ll get a bassist after we write a couple songs, we can put some ads up around town.”

“You’re the expert.” Cyrus smiled. 

Cyrus loved Jeff’s parents. They didn’t complain about the noise - Jeff’s stepdad even complimented their playing when he gave Cyrus a ride home. 

“Where have you been all day?” Cyrus’s mother asked when he came in the door. 

“I told you, mom, I was visiting Jeff.” Cyrus put down his amp and guitar case to take off his coat. 

His mother sneered. “I hope you didn’t bother that poor boy’s parents while you were there.” 

“No, mom.” Cyrus grabbed his stuff and quickly retreated to his bedroom. 

“What about the Killers?” Jeff was hunched over a notebook, the page in front of him littered with names, over half of which had been crossed out. 

“The Killers is a good one. How did we feel about Satan’s Fingers?” Cyrus dragged the permanent marker over the plastic shell of his electric guitar, careful not to smudge the pentagram with his hand. 

“I like it, but it might be a little over the top.”

“Over the top is good, right?” 

Jeff laughed. “This is  _ Texas,  _ Cyrus. There are three different churches in a mile radius from my house.”

Cyrus grinned. “Even better.” 

“I’ll mark it down as a definite maybe.” Jeff crumpled the ink-soaked sheet, starting a new one. “The Killers. Satan’s Fingers. The Hospital Bombers.” 

“We have plenty of time to figure it out.” Cyrus straightened up. “But there’s no point in a band name with no band. We should practice.”

“You’re joking.” Cyrus stared at the pamphlet on the table.

“It’s for your own good, son,” his father said. “We can’t have you associating with those  _ vagrants _ at the public school.”

Cyrus knew he meant Jeff. Idly, he ruminated on “The Vagrants” as a band name. His father was talking about how good the Baptist school would be for him. Cyrus wasn’t listening. He was thinking about Jeff. He couldn’t let Jeff down this way. It wasn’t  _ fair.  _

The school didn’t allow colored hair, so Cyrus had been forced to cut out the black dye, leaving him with about an inch left. It was so alien not to feel the brush of his hair on his neck and shoulders. He couldn’t paint his nails, either. He felt totally anonymous, dressed exactly like every other boy in his class. Sure, everyone looked different - different hair colors, heights, body types, skin tones - but the school had done their best to make sure they were all the same. 

He was lucky, though. He could still practice guitar. He missed his own guitar, but he still treasured the battered acoustic he was allowed to learn hymns on. He largely ignored the letters he received from his parents, but he kept himself going with the letters he received from Jeff. 

Jeff wrote about getting back at Cyrus’s parents. At the school. At the entire city of Denton, the state of Texas, the country of the United States. The world. It kept Cyrus afloat. He kept an eye over his shoulder as he wrote his replies, ending them the same way each time. 

_ We will in time both outpace and outlive them. Hail Satan!  _


End file.
